


So I Started Writing, Had A Meltdown. Bone Scrap The Teeth.

by letsbewerewolves (ironiccowboykink)



Category: Homestuck, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Drug Use, Drugs, God - Freeform, It's 2040, idk - Freeform, in 2020 i wrote a sold to 1D fanfic, man, not fuckin w you, sold to 1D
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:41:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24252250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironiccowboykink/pseuds/letsbewerewolves
Summary: Honestly its really funny my main pseud is homestuck inspired but i have NO hs works. anyway
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	So I Started Writing, Had A Meltdown. Bone Scrap The Teeth.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [god](https://archiveofourown.org/users/god/gifts).



Your name is DIRK STRIDER, and you have a fuck ton of messages.

They are mostly from David. Almost all of them are from David, actually, which is not unusual. A few of them are from internet strangers hellbent on blowing up your inbox with attempts at friendship and occasional solicitations, but you ignore those. 

The familiar _bloop_ of Discord catches your attention as your bro sends you yet another message. 

theatricalGenius [TG]: hey get up

heatricalGenius [TG]: im selling you to one direction

theatricalGenius [TG]: what the hell are you talking about you say even though i dont think you can get any clearer than that

theatricalGenius [TG]: yes i am indeed selling you to one direction the popular boy band of the 2010s

theatricalGenius [TG]: dont look at me like that kid it was inevitable 

theatricalGenius [TG]: maybe im a fuckin billionaire or some shit but i need my smokes

theatricalGenius [TG]: actually i need to fund my coke addiction but like whats the difference

theatricalGenius [TG]: smoke crack they both kill you

theatricalGenius [TG]: i mean thats totally ignoring a lot of obvious differences but thats besides the point here

theatricalGenius [TG]: also crack is fuckin expensive 

You read the most recent message he sent you with an incredulous blink.

theatricalGenius [TG]: anyway theyre here now

What. Who’s here? _One Direction?_ That’s ridiculous for any number of reasons but the number one being they broke up twenty-four years ago. Also, there’s no fucking way he legitimately sold you to One Direction for drug money.

You wipe the sleep out of your eyes and pluck your shades off your dresser, rushing downstairs as you put them on. But coolly. Even if you’re being sold to an ex-boyband, you’re going to be cool about it. You run a hand through your blonde hair with a sigh. You suddenly get the urge to throw it up into a messy bun, but that’s not even possible and even if it were you wouldn’t do it. 

There are voices floating up the stairs, ones you don’t recognize. You make your way quietly down, trying to sneak your way past whatever stranger is supposedly going to take you away today and into the kitchen. 

Except in your haste you accidentally clip a suitcase waiting for you at the foot of the stairs. Ordinarily nobody would have noticed it, but you live in a house with David Strider so of course he heard. The bastard could hear a pin drop in a field of hay. 

“Morning, bro,” he grins. He gestures lazily to a group of five, impossibly young looking men. Does he really think this is One Direction? Because they _should_ be his age about now. But they look as young as they did when they were still popular. 

You guess you’re looking suspicious or something— not like you could really be blamed for that— because the wispy looking one with long, brown hair sticks a hand out to you.

“Hey, I’m Harry. Styles. Nice to meet you.”

You neglect to shake it. Or say anything at all, because this is ridiculous. Instead you shift slightly to face David again. Because what the fuck is this. 

He shrugs. “Meet your new owners, kid.” David fumbles in his pockets for a minute before pulling out a ten dollar bill and handing it to the one closest to him, the one with short blonde hair. He accepts it with an awkward smile. 

Your eyebrow twitches in the equivalent of a jaw drop. “You’re… paying them to take me.” It’s a question, but you don’t say it like one. 

“Nah, that’s just for collateral damage.”

“There’s no way you’re actually One Direction,” you say accusingly. “you’re all still young.”

The blonde one fidgets a little bit but before he can say anything, the three in the middle— Zayn, Liam, and Louis, if you remember correctly— blurt, “Nope! We totally are.” All at the same time.

Your eyebrow, previously employed for displays of incredulity, now raises completely in an unadulterated cocktail of feelings you summarize as “Really?”

Zayn laughs awkwardly. “You know how celebrity magic works. Keeps you young.”

You both ignore the elephant in the room. Well, he does. David takes this as his cue to wander away.

Liam gives you a smile which you’re sure is meant to look reassuring. “Well, uh. We’re One Direction. And we’re your new owners.”


End file.
